No, not ships, Emily thought. Decoys. Dammit, they were all decoys. So, where was Rudd? Her head swiveled to scan her sensor screens, which were filled with a confusing clutter of over a hundred missiles, other ships, Rudd’s decoys and…
Without warning, three destroyers blew up, their blue symbols suddenly flashing orange. Shouts of consternation came from their captains. Two more exploded a moment later.
Where there had been ten blue symbols representing their destroyers, there were now five orange circles and five blue triangles…and one red triangle behind them. Empty space a moment ago, but now there was Rudd’s ship. More missiles emerged from it, almost languid in their movement, boring in towards the remaining blue ships.
“Shit!” Salazar shouted frantically. “Turn, turn! Activate your short-range defenses-”
Then it was over. Two more ships were completely destroyed, three were crippled, including Emily’s. After a long moment of silence, broken only by muttered curses, Rudd’s voice came over their headphones. Emily had expected laughter, perhaps sarcasm, but instead his voice was somber and serious.
“Those of you who are Code Omega are the lucky ones. For the others, your ship is crippled. You cannot maneuver, you cannot turn, cannot stop. Maybe your life support is still working, so you still have air…for a time. Perhaps you hope to be rescued. But look at your sensors. Your ship is still moving, drifting farther and farther away into deep space.” On Emily’s screen her ship slowly cart-wheeled away into the inky blackness, growing smaller and smaller. “This is what we call the ‘Long Walk.’” Rudd continued gravely. “It is the nightmare of every officer and sailor in the Fleet: To drift in the darkness of space for days or weeks or months until your air is exhausted and you die.” He paused, letting them envision it. “Your job as Tactical Officer is to make sure this never happens to you, to your ship, to your crew.”
“Bastard,” muttered Salazar.
Later that night, after most of the ship was asleep, Emily searched the library until she found training programs containing a variety of skirmishes. She downloaded the first one. The screen flickered and the face of Captain Grey appeared. She looked full into the camera, her short, gray hair forming a small helmet. After a moment she blinked once, smiled and spoke:
“If you are using this training program, it probably means you have finished your first day of Tactical Officer training — “ Her mouth quirked in humor — “and you were not very happy with the results. Okay, there is a lot to learn, but the first lesson is this: Combat is not just about force, but about the application of force. The proper application of force depends on three things-” she held up a finger — “One, your status. What is ‘status’? It is the ships you have, their damage state, their weapons status and, importantly, the morale of your crew. Two, the status of your enemy. And three, your ability to control the initiative in the battle. It is not the navy with the most power that wins; it is the navy that controls how and when that power is used.” Grey smiled grimly. “It’s never that simple, of course, and that’s why you’ll train harder than you have ever done anything in your life. So, let’s begin…”
Chapter 16
P.D. 952
Pieces in Motion
In Dominion of Unified Citizenry Space
Through the observation bubble, Michael Hudis watched in grim satisfaction as the armada passed before him. Eight-five ships: one battleship, twenty missile cruisers, ten energy weapon cruisers (nicknamed “Beamers,” he recalled), thirty destroyers, miscellaneous frigates and support vessels…and two carriers, each carrying fifty chemical fuel fighters. Each fighter could carry three ship-killer missiles.
And best of all, the damn Vickies had no idea they existed. All of the ships had been built at the Dominion’s secret ship yard, hidden from prying eyes in a dust cloud a full thirty days’ travel from the Dominion home planet of Timor. Construction of the ship yard had begun six months after the humiliating defeat at Windsor. For fifteen long years the Vickies had strutted and crowed about Windsor. Now it was their turn. Beware the wrath of a patient man, Hudis thought. And piss on you, Admiral Skiffington.
The armada lumbered by, turning away from the Unity and gathering speed toward Sybil Head, two months distant. The armada would not pass through any of the principal wormholes, but would follow the old trade route, following a wormhole trail unused now since it was so much shorter to travel through Victorian space and its precious wormholes. They should not meet anyone, but if they did, Admiral Mello was under strict orders to destroy them so that no word could be passed, no warning given.
Once at Sybil Head, the armada would turn toward Cape Breton, where it would pick up additional support ships, make any repairs necessary, and then proceed through the Cape Breton-Victoria wormhole into Vickie space. Exactly three months from now, the armada would reach the Victorian home world of Cornwall.
“You should be proud of yourself, Michael. Everything is going exactly as you planned.”
Hudis inclined his head to the man beside him. Anthony Nasto, the Citizen Director, the most powerful man in the Dominion. Soon to be the most powerful man in the occupied universe. “Thank you, Citizen Director,” he replied. Hudis repressed a smile; he could still remember giving Tony Nasto a bloody nose on a dusty elementary school playground. Well, things change. Now it was “Citizen Director,” even when they were alone. “Admiral Mello’s task force will be under strict radio silence until he reaches Victorian space, then he will broadcast the code word. In the meantime, Admiral Kaeser’s task force is finishing its shake down of the new crews. About two more months should do it, I think. Admiral Kaeser’s task force will be ready to go as soon as the Victorian Second Fleet departs for Tilleke.
“And the commandos?” asked Nasto.
“They are almost finished training. In two months they will board three different freighters and move to the target. They will be in place and ready when Citizen Admiral Mello’s task force approaches. And, of course, once the battle begins, we will put the Dragon Teeth in place as well.” The Dragon Teeth would be the Dominion cork in the Victorian bottle, he thought
Nasto nodded in satisfaction. “And the Tilleke?”
Hudis shrugged. “So far, playing the role assigned to them.” He took a deep breath and blew it out forcefully. “The Emperor is the wild card; gives me the willies, to tell you the truth. He doesn’t seem to have much of a fleet, but he is very confident.”
“Have we found out anything about his new weapon?”
Hudis shook his head in annoyance. “No, and they aren’t telling us anything either. I don’t like it, not a bit.”
“Well,” Nasto said philosophically. “If everything goes well, it won’t matter what the Tilleke do, will it? All they need to do is lure the Vickie Second Fleet away from Victoria; we’ll do the rest. And has our beloved Admiral Skiffington taken the bait?”
Hudis smiled in satisfaction. “The Intelligence Directorate reports that the Vickie Third Fleet is moving to Windsor and should arrive within the month. There are signs that Second Fleet is preparing to relocate to Victoria. As we had hoped, the Vickies will use Second Fleet when war erupts between Arcadia and Tilleke, leaving our target defended by the First Fleet only.”
Nasto frowned. “But their Second Fleet isn’t moving to Gilead? If they positioned themselves forward to Gilead, it could cause problems.”
“We don’t think they’ll do that. Remember, Citizen Director, if they keep Second Fleet near the entrance to the Victoria-Gilead wormhole, they can cross Gilead and be in Tilleke space in two days.”